


Just A Little Nudge

by Dreamin



Series: Christmas in July 2020 [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Post-The Final Problem, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:15:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25535707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamin/pseuds/Dreamin
Summary: Mycroft and Sherlock need a little push towards the ladies they love.
Relationships: Sally Donovan/Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Series: Christmas in July 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1778281
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	Just A Little Nudge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [afteriwake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/gifts).



Mycroft was at his desk, reading the transcript of a conversation between one of his men and an informant when there was a knock on the door. He closed the transcript then looked up from his laptop. “Yes?”

The door opened and Mr. Nichols, the new custodian, pushed his cart into the room. “Sorry, Mr. Holmes. I thought everyone had gone home by now.”

“It’s alright,” Mycroft said as he turned back to his laptop. “I’ll leave in an hour or so.”

“Christmas is a few days away,” the old man said, “shouldn’t you spend your evenings with your loved ones?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “I will see my parents and brother on Christmas Day.”

“But no one before then?” When Mycroft gave him a questioning look, he added, “I just think no one should be alone this time of year.” He looked down at the floor. “What’s this?” He stooped to retrieve something then laid it on the desk.

It was a business card. When Mycroft picked it up, he realized it was Sally Donovan’s card. _She must have dropped it the last time she was here._ He could admit to no one but himself that he found the newly-minted detective inspector intriguing, exasperating, and attractive.

He looked up at the custodian. “Er, thank you, Mr. Nichols. I believe I will stop for the night; the rest can wait until morning.”

“Good idea, sir,” he said, his evergreen-colored eyes dancing with delight. “I’ll clean one of the other offices first, give you a chance to shut everything down. Happy Holidays.” He pushed the cart out the door and closed it behind him.

“To you as well,” Mycroft said absently, his eyes once more on the business card.

* * *

That same night, Sherlock lay in bed, unable to get his brain to stop racing enough to let him sleep. He had just wrapped up a case that John said he was going to call “The Rankled Fan” and after three days of not sleeping, it was time to crash.

_Or it would be, if I could just stop THINKING!_ Not knowing what else to do, he got up and threw his suit jacket on over his aubergine dress shirt and trousers since he hadn’t bothered getting undressed. Putting on his Belstaff and scarf on the way out the door, he decided to try to find someone, anyone, who he could bum a cigarette off of, but at that late hour, the streets were mostly deserted.

His mind wasn’t so lucky – it was full, as it always was when he wasn’t on a case, of Molly Hooper.

Molly, the woman he’d kept at arm’s length for so long that he’d lost her.

Molly, the woman he’d told in a moment of complete clarity that he loved, only to lie to her after that he didn’t mean it _that way_.

Molly, the woman who could see the truth in his eyes, knew he couldn’t be the man she needed, and left.

_But she didn’t go far, did she, Sherlock?_ Moriarty’s voice teased in his head. _She didn’t leave London, she didn’t even leave Bart’s, she just left your little circle._

_And now my circle, my heart, is without its center,_ Sherlock thought. He was so deep in his head that he bumped into someone.

“Careful, son,” the old man said, laughing a bit. “Can’t have you barreling over everyone in sight.”

Sherlock looked at him and the deductions came quickly. _Salesman, no, no, he’s in shipping. Very busy this time of year. Woodworker, though mostly as a hobby these days. Married, no children, but loves kids._ He shook his head a bit to clear it. “Sorry, lost in thought.”

“Don’t worry, it happens to everyone. Now, do you happen to know of a place selling flowers at this time of night? I disappointed my wife and I want to apologize. Of course, not disappointing her again is more important than the apology, and I’ll try to do that too, but the apology comes first.”

Sherlock blinked in surprise. “Er, right. The shops are closed now, but you can get her flowers tomorrow morning.”

The man nodded, his evergreen-colored eyes smiling. “That’s what I’ll do then, thank you.” He held out his hand. “Happy Holidays, Mr. …?”

“Sherlock Holmes,” he said, shaking the man’s hand. “And you are?”

The old man grinned. “Just call me Nick Cole.”

Sherlock nodded. “Happy Holidays, Mr. Cole. I hope it works out with your wife.”

“Thank you, and I hope everything works out for you.” He walked away, whistling “Jingle Bells.”

It took Sherlock less than a heartbeat to make a decision then he hailed a cab. Giving the driver Molly Hooper’s address, he could only pray that he wasn’t too late.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a Christmas in July 2020 prompt afteriwake sent me -- "Santa is real."
> 
> Also, spite is a great motivator. *side-eyes a certain show creator*


End file.
